February 17, 6:29 p.m. Leaving the house after sunset.

For all the hassle and frustration our record snowy winter has brought, it has also brought the most beautiful winter scenery in many years of memory. I suspect that I am seeing the rural landscape with new eyes after living in a city for the past five years, but in some way I feel this winter has been extraordinary. The snow has given me a new appreciation for a color palette I didn’t until now find appealing: gray lavender winter sunsets reflecting off icy blue white, a landscape that glows without heat.

One of the things I like best about the farm is that the sun sets behind the woodline at the back of my property, and behind the soft mountains that are beyond the woods.  In the winter, the silhouettes of trees—including the gigantic oak right behind the house—throw up a stark background that’s not unlike an expertly lit stage set. I like being out here as the stars wheel into place above me, and I like feeling small under those giant trees.

I’ve searched for an old mantle for at least five years. When I lived in my apartment, I wanted a mantle to make a focal wall and add some architectural interest to an otherwise character-bereft space. I set up CraigsList feeds to scope out any old mantles offered for sale. I searched and hunted but never found a mantle that made me pull the trigger.

And then last May, a mantle found me. I was up at my house, before I closed on it, after the previous owner had held a yard sale to clear out her belongings. There propped up against the wellhouse was the most beautiful old mantle I had ever seen. I loved its proportions, its old black paint, everything. Turns out it was for sale by the man who had helped orchestrate the sale of the farm to me–the brother-in-law of my home’s owner. I asked him how much he wanted for it, and at the time felt too directionless to accept his offer. The mantle disappeared, but didn’t leave my mind.

All summer I thought about it. And then when I got to the point with the house where I needed to figure out what to do to the interior fireplace bricks and potential hearth, I knew I had the perfect mantle in mind. I called up the man, who’s a woodworker, and went down to his shop. We struck a deal, and on Saturday he delivered the mantle back to the farm. My parents and I horsed it into the house and against the bricks. Miraculously, it’s fit was darn near close to perfect. And  I love it.

Turns out its previous owner had removed it from a home built in 1840 in Farmville, Virginia. It still has its original coat of black paint on it, which I’ve heard is incredibly rare for a mantle that old. The paint is crackled and gorgeous, and all I plan to do to the mantle is wash it down and wax it to bring out the beautifully faded finish and exposed wood grain. I think I will add a big bluestone hearth below it, and a cute little Jotul stove similar to the one I fell in love with in Alaska. After I paint or parge the bricks, it should be pretty neat.

I made a change from the plans and decided to keep the kitchen and living room open to each other, instead of building stub walls with five-foot pocket doors as I originally drew. I think it’s an interesting effect, to enter into the lower ceilinged, cozy living space that the opens up into the vaulted ceiling in the kitchen. We’ll see. If I change my mind, these are easy walls to add after the fact.

On Sunday, I had my first porch picnic with my parents. The porch is now officially broken in! We’d gone up to try the mantle on for size before I cleaned it up, and ended up staying all day picking up leaves. Dad blew them into piles, Mom and I picked them up and put them in the bucket of the tractor, and then I drove them down into the woods and dumped them. I had quite a massive pile by the time I was done, and I am keeping them all piled up so that they’ll hopefully decompose into very nutritious leaf mold for next year’s garden. It was a fun, gorgeous day, and it felt good to be looking after the house. We had a gorgeous pink sunset, which I enjoyed from the new front porch.

October 25, 6:45 p.m. Leaving the farm, headed home for dinner.

October 20, 7:13 p.m. Driving from the farm to my parents’ house under a fingernail moon.

Minutes after I took this shot, I was shocked to see a huge coiled black snake in the middle of the road, reared up like a cobra looking right at me as I flashed by. He was a thick oily puddle and his upright white belly reflected my lights. The split-second shock of recognition stays with me.